the ballad of draco and ginny
by MyLadyElise
Summary: Draco and Ginny fell in love while he was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix and she was his contact. A collection of one-shots chronicling their early life together. Originally began pre-Death Hallows and AU after Half-Blood Prince. Update: Drinny are reunited and Ginny confesses to her mother.
1. Chapter 1

_**The Ballad of Draco and Ginny**_

Author's Notes: This is a response to a challenge posted on the Draco/Ginny drabble community on LiveJournal some years ago. Each drabble was limited to 100 words, hence the brevity of the first section of this piece. It was written pre-_Deathly Hallows_, so it is AU after _Half-Blood Prince_. This will be a series of one-shots of Draco and Ginny's early life together (though maybe not in chronological order).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, etc.

* * *

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;  
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;  
Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.  
What is it else? A madness most discreet,  
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.  
~ William Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_

* * *

_Draco's Point-of-View_

The first time he had met her at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, he had nearly turned away, convinced that the situation was a trap. He scoffed at her defiant attitude, but now … she was the best Legilimens in Order ranks after Snape, and a more than adequate soldier.

Still, he would never let her see his reluctant admiration, and when he spotted her at last, he admonished, "You're late, Ginevra."

She jerked away and frowned at him, "I came as soon as I could, Malfoy."

"The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting."

* * *

_Ginny's Point-of-View_

The first time she had met him at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, she'd been sick with nerves, and summoned all her skill as an Occlumens to hide that fact.

He'd been skeptical, but so had she - so had they all. Thus, she launched into a torrent of words, trying to break his calm demeanour and bolster her own sense of security.

After a while, she let go of her distrust and noted his resolution – she didn't care about his motivations. Still, she would never let him see her reluctant admiration.

* * *

_The First Kiss_

Three months into their weekly assignations he kissed her. This time he was late. Instead of the expected scolding, he met sad eyes, which she did not attempt to conceal.

"What happened?" he bit out and did not really want an answer.

"Percy was injured."

He noticed her injuries then – scratches on her face, a bruise on her temple, stiffness when she moved. He reached out and traced his wand along the marks, murmuring a charm. She watched him with curious eyes, and when he finished, he kissed her.

"So what do you have for me?" she asked, breathlessly.

* * *

_The Naughty Interlude_

A few months later they fucked against a tree, panting into one another's mouths, his nails biting into her hips, and her own raking down his shirt-clad back.

"Draco," she moaned, "harder," as he pressed her into the tree, and she crossed her ankles, pushing him deeper into her.

"Come for me, Gin," he urged and kissed her, his tongue not quite matching the rhythm of his hips.

"Oh gods, Draco," she groaned and thrust her head back against the tree. Her muscles clamped around him, wringing the last drops of his orgasm. He collapsed against her and bit her neck, as they slid to ground.

I'll have splinters tomorrow, she thought and grinned.

* * *

_The Rescue_

One Thursday he didn't appear and Ginny walked numbly to the castle. When she returned to Grimmauld, she went straight to Harry.

"Probably couldn't get away." Harry seemed puzzled by her concern and ushered past her.

How could she explain the unease that was more than unease?

Three days later, they found him unconscious in the ruins of a Death Eater stronghold on the other side of the Forbidden Forest.

She was amazingly persistent, Harry thought as he glanced at her kneeling over Malfoy, quietly healing his lesser wounds.

Draco opened his eyes, unsurprised by her presence.

"You were late," she scolded shakily.

"I love you," he said.

* * *

_The Sequel_

The smoke stung her eyes, and burned a path to her lungs, so she crouched a little lower to the ground beneath the rising plumes, and hovered protectively over the still body beside her. She clutched his hand long after he drifted into unconsciousness again, appearing as calm and as deliberate as she had when she organised his search – ruthlessly suppressing her own fears and doubts during the days of his disappearance. She suppressed them still, afraid to give way to any choking sobs that he may hear. Though she felt them. Dear Merlin, she felt them simmering beneath the surface and the warmth of Draco's hand, clutched within her own, acted as a tonic. She couldn't give way. He still needed her.

"I'm going for Aunt Narcissa now," Tonks said gently, rising from her place on the other side of Draco. She'd never really known much about her young cousin beyond stories told by Harry and Remus, but she felt for him. He'd been trapped in an impossible situation and made his own way out with far more courage than she would have ever guessed for one so coddled since birth. He was rather like her own mother, Andromeda, in that respect. Perhaps she should take her mother with her to Malfoy Manor. Though the sisters had been estranged for years, with a son gravely injured and a husband missing, Narcissa Malfoy would need any support available. She was a Black though and stubborn and would never admit it.

Tonks glanced towards Ginny, whose gaze had never left Draco's face, her knuckles white from clutching his hand so hard. "Are you going to be alright?"

Ginny did not respond immediately and Tonks was about to repeat her question when the young girl finally acknowledged her presence. She was pale, nearly as pale as Draco and Tonks doubted whether she had slept for days, so purple were the marks beneath Ginny's eyes. "I'm fine," Ginny answered, forcing her reedy voice to sound stronger than it was.

Tonks looked doubtful and insisted, "I can send Remus or someone else to my aunt and I'll stay with you until Draco's ready for St. Mungo's."

"No!" Ginny's outburst startled Tonks, who moved to the other side of her cousin to examine Ginny more closely.

"Ginny, Draco –"

"Is _not_ going to St. Mungo's," she insisted. "It's too dangerous."

"It's the best wizarding hospital in England."

"And how many breaches in security and unexplained deaths have occurred there since this bloody war began?" An agitated flush splashed across her cheek, making Ginny appear sicklier. Her eyes were too fiery and Tonks reached an instinctive hand to check her temperature. Ginny shoved the hand away, though looked immediately contrite.

"I'm sorry, Tonks." She paused, taking a deep breath, before briefly letting go of Draco's hand and clutching Tonks's arm instead. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "You have to promise me that Draco will not go to St. Mungo's."

"Ginny –"

"No! Promise me, Tonks, or I will physically take him to Grimmauld myself. I'll drag him out of St. Mungo's if I have to."

"I'll try, but Ginny, Narcissa has the final say on where Draco is treated," Tonks reminded her gently.

Ginny hated that her lip trembled. "I know that, I just … he almost died and I cannot bear the thought of him vulnerable _there_. Our side won't trust him and the Death Eaters or their sympathisers will kill him for what he knows."

Tonks patted Ginny's hand, her smile was firm though not quite as reassuring to Ginny as she, no doubt, expected it to be. "We will make sure he is safe, Ginny."

Ginny could not help her snort of skepticism. "I doubt very much that Draco's safety is paramount to the Order."

Tonks was silent for a moment and decided to try another tactic. "Ginny, think of it this way – the reason for his danger amongst any Death Eaters is the very same reason that he is valuable for the Order."

At this, Ginny's gaze finally left Draco again. "I guess you are right," she conceded. "He is valuable for what he knows." Though Ginny hated the coldness of that statement, she found reassurance in it.

Tonks stood up to leave again. "I'll tell Narcissa your fears about St. Mungo's. She may not want him there any more than you. I'll try to convince her that Grimmauld is the best place for him right now. Merlin knows that Malfoy Manor won't be, especially with Lucius missing."

She nodded, but her attention was entirely focused on Draco once again. Ginny heard Tonks's disappearing "pop" just as she bent to kiss Draco's dirt-streaked cheek.

Truthfully, she felt awkward as she did not know what to do while the others scrambled about securing prisoners and evidence, nor did she know what to say to an unconscious Draco, since she felt with a degree of certainty that he had not heard her own responsive, "I love you." Her part had been played and her spirit now only bolstered by the steady rise and fall of his chest. So, she stayed awkwardly silent by his side, her eyes continually moving from his prone form to the organised chaos around her, and waited for the preparations to take him back with her to Grimmauld (hopefully).

He did not wake for two more days.

Two days.

* * *

Ginny rubbed her bleary eyes as Draco began to stir. She moved stiffly from the armchair to his bed, leaning over, resting against the mattress and taking his hand – grateful to whatever deity allowed her to be present when he woke. She worried when she had been forced to other chores and duties for the Order – that he'd wake and find her absent, that she had abandoned him. It was a silly fear, but she worried none the less, even as she enjoyed moments of elation with the thought that he was here and truly okay – relatively.

His eyes fluttered and finally opened, looking around him curiously and with no small amount of relief. Clearly, Death Eater accommodations would not be so comfortable – if they ever took prisoners, that is – though his present situation was far removed from the luxury of the Manor. He blinked again, against the fuzzy images, trying to ascertain his location and recognised a red blob moving into his line of vision.

"Draco, love?" she murmured unsteadily.

Ginny. She'd found him. Funny how he didn't doubt that. Her warm hand in his. He turned his head slowly to the side, wincing at the throbbing and the bright candlelight. Her teary smile met him and he tried to say something, but his throat did not seem to work properly and he swallowed painfully. She was pale, too pale, purplish circles beneath her eyes, making her hair appear blood red.

"I'm sorry, Draco. The Mediwitches told me that – well, it doesn't matter." She poured him a glass of water. "Here, let me help you." She sat the glass down and adjusted his pillows. He breathed her lavender scent deeply when she leaned over him, closing his eyes.

She paused at his shuddered breath, her hand on his shoulder, afraid that her small movement had somehow hurt him. She gingerly helped him into a reclining position and he gasped as he sat up; the hexes he could not remember seemed to bruise his body again with each movement. He watched her quick movements intently and absently wondered about the powder that she dissolved into his drink. "For your throat and head," she said and held the glass to his lips. He rather thought that he could manage a glass of water on his own, but he let her continue.

"More?"

Draco frowned when he still could not speak and waved the glass away. He gently rubbed his neck, feeling a few bumps and rough (probably burned skin) – tell-tale signs of a hex.

"It'll take a few days for your voice to return," she paused, "You're at Grimmauld. The Mediwitches had half a mind to take you to St. Mungo's, but I thought you'd be safer and more comfortable here."

He only looked at her and she could not read his eyes. She was a bit disconcerted by his non-reaction to everything, and especially her; but she chastised herself for her thoughts. Silly, selfish Ginny, but she wished to kiss him, if only to quiet her fears of nearly losing him. "Are you hungry?" she asked, eager to aid him and to cover her own awkwardness. "I'm rubbish in the kitchen, but I could manage toast or a warm croissant – or at least warm broth until Mum gets up."

"No," he mouthed, because it hurt too much to shake his head.

"I should get the Mediwitch, or your mother. She's here, you know. When you were missing, I sent Tonks to her. I knew you'd be worried about Death Eater revenge. She's been with Andromeda, and been to see you too." She was rambling, yes, but all she really wanted to do was to touch him and to have just a moment before anyone else intruded.

"Not yet," he mouthed again.

He glanced around the room again, his vision slightly clearing, and then looked again at the obviously nervous Ginny. He wanted to ask her what had happened, where he had been, but found that he did not have the energy (or yet the desire) to mime such a conversation. Instead, he contented himself by reaching for her other hand, tugging her into bed with him, touching her, playing with her fingers, and gazing at her as she settled onto the pillow beside him. He liked her there, and he liked the look of her – worried and sweet and curious. He liked that she sighed too, when he touched her. Relief maybe? Even though he couldn't remember anything of what had happened –

He remembered returning from their last rendezvous in the forest, smelling of her, still tasting her, her teeth on his neck, his fingers pressing her hips against his own.

He let go of her hand to caress her cheek, and brushed a thumb across her lips. She turned her head slightly and kissed his palm. "Draco, I –" her eyes a little wilder, "I –" Why couldn't she say it – (love) right now – with him awake? Because her head hurt too? And she didn't know; did he mean it? "I need you."

He moved a little closer to her and their lips met, and she didn't know who reached first, and he ignored his pounding head. Sometimes need was just as good as love; sometimes better, but he thought that she meant love with her eyes wild, and a glimmer of a memory in the ruins of a Death Eater stronghold at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"_You were late," she scolded shakily._

"_I love you," he said._

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

_**Relief maybe?**_

"_This, this was love. This was the real thing." ~ Laurence Olivier upon watching a film of his late former wife Vivien Leigh, shortly before his own death in 1989. Vivien had been dead since 1967._

_The lines quoted by Ginny are from Elizabeth Siddal's "Dead Love."_

* * *

She slept there all night, the first real possibility of sleep for almost a week. Pepper-up potions could only do so much. Draco's head rested on her breast, ear pressed against her heart. She loved the weight of him when she breathed. She loved, too, that he clutched her hip tighter at different times, and wondered of what he dreamt. She could not help obsessing over his missing days, how many days he had been lying on the forest floor. No one to help him, exposed to any of the nefarious creatures inhabiting the forest.

Instinctively, she pressed her fingertips into the warmth of his upper arm, because she could and he was there. He was there. Her fingers ached wherever she touched, as though his pain had somehow seeped through the warmth. She kissed his too-bright hair, then, breathed his scent. He still smelled a little smoky, another sometime aftereffect of the Cruciatus, which lingered for weeks or months, depending on the strength of the curse. Sometimes, she bit back heavy sobs. She almost lost him; she might still lose him.

She only lightly slept. Despite the fatigue nipping at her bones, she was far too aware of Draco to fall into true sleep.

But that was okay, because she could feel his breath against her breast.

She might have dreamt of them in that way too, because she was surprised when his rustling woke her. He lightly kissed the exposed flesh above her heart, and the junction of her shoulder. She threaded her fingers through his hair with a sigh and met his sleepy smile, so pleased to see her that she thought her heart might crack under the pressure. He almost looked innocent when sleepy.

"Morning, Draco," she murmured.

He could not answer. Instead, he shifted and pulled her to his lips, briefly, and when he let her go, she pulled him back – because she could, because they had time now. She had dreamed of having him with her at Grimmauld, to see and touch whenever she wanted. But it had seemed as ephemeral a dream as wishing Dumbledore and Colin alive again. Simply impossible, and this might still be a dream. She might wake to find him gone, slipped beneath the veil through which Sirius has fallen so long ago.

So, she did – roam her hands over his back, taking care to avoid his bandages, but her need to feel his muscles move beneath her hand startled her in its strength. Draco deepened the kiss, more strongly than she would have thought him capable just then. He seemed just as greedy as Ginny, and his touch was just as gentle as he slid one hand beneath her shirt. She shivered as his fingertips danced along her ribcage. When he pulled away again she worried that it had been too much, that she had hurt him. Before she could ask, he captured her lips again, maneuvering them so that when his hand slid beneath her shirt again, he was able to cup one breast.

Thank Merlin I never wear a bra to bed, she thought. Shuddering, because though she'd had sex with him, they had never had the opportunity to just touch. _This _intimacy, limbs entwined in a rumpled bed, gentleness – it was a luxury they had never been able to afford. It was the closest they'd ever been to really making love and if Ginny were not so dizzy from his nearness, she would cry.

Ginny broke away to gasp when his thumb rubbed over her nipple. His smirk was the naughtiest and most Draco-like expression she had witnessed since his rescue. It made her grin, a genuine happiness she had been almost too afraid to indulge until now.

But Draco was still weak and his moan was not one entirely of pleasure. He may still be smirking, but the tightness about his eyes betrayed his pain. "We can't do this now," she breathed against his lips, placing her own hand upon the one still caressing her breast.

He nodded, slowly, and pulled his hand away, though he still kissed her.

When the Mediwitch entered with Draco's breakfast tray of weak broth and tea a moment later, his mother trailing behind, Ginny blushed a little to be caught embracing. She turned away from Narcissa's amused smile with a promise to return. As she closed the door, she caught sight of covers drawn back and dark, blood-stained bandages being checked and instantly felt guilty. _She _should have checked. She should have.

* * *

After grabbing tea and a bit of toast from the thankfully deserted kitchen, Ginny slipped out to Grimmauld's overgrown flower gardens. She needed a bit of peace. She did not want questions yet.

Her mother had restored a small path and swing bench in an attempt to make Grimmauld seem more like a home, and it was to this place that Ginny often sought for moments of peace. The lavender and heather still reached over the stone walkway and tickled the swing, inviting bees and other insects. Ginny loved the scents of lavender, honeysuckle, and the few surviving roses. They were heady and comforting, especially after the smells of the sickroom. Later, she would bring a basket and shears and make a medicinal bouquet for Draco's pillow. Maybe some honeysuckle tea for his throat.

She sipped her own Chamomile and finished the toast, tossing the crust to a nightingale that snatched the crumb. She watched the small bird lift above the large birch tree at the garden's centre, and fly away just as her mother approached.

She never minded her mother's company here, for she was quieter without the twins or the Golden Trio to scold. She also knew that her mother valued the peace as she did; it was their safe haven. Only rarely did anyone else venture into the gardens. Most of the others were indifferent, and Ron too frightened by the possibilities of spiders. Though she may have been immensely curious, Ginny also knew that Molly would refrain from outright questions into her relationship with Draco. She knew that such questions would put Ginny too much on her guard, and she had early learned that lesson in Ginny's relationships with Dean and Harry.

Molly sat beside her daughter, sipping her own tea for a moment and gently rocking the swing back and forth. They once had such a swing at the Burrow and Ginny had loved the rocking motions as an infant. But, as with most things, the swing had been destroyed by her raucous boys – most expressly by one of the twins' experiments gone awry. She had picked splinters from the flowers for weeks afterward.

"How is he?" her mother ventured. She had been horrified to see the young Malfoy boy so bloodied and bruised.

"Improving, though he still has no voice. The Mediwitch and Mrs. Malfoy are with Draco now."

"Tonks asked after him earlier."

Ginny nodded. "When I know more, I'll speak with her, or maybe Mrs. Malfoy will. They did not seem so hostile towards one another last night." She paused. "It will be sometime before Draco is well again."

Molly turned to face her daughter, recognising the purple rings beneath her eyes, her paleness which seemed to throw her freckles into harsh relief beneath the morning sun. Such sights were all too common at Grimmauld these days. She had been especially concerned about Ginny's frenetic energy when the Malfoy boy had been missing. How she had raved. "What happened exactly?"

Ginny sipped her tea once again, and sighed. "I don't know yet, and Draco doesn't remember much. The old scars from Harry's Sectumsempra were opened and he lost a lot of blood. The Mediwitch seems to believe that it was due to repeated Crucios and another Sectumsempra, which makes it especially difficult to close."

Molly gasped. "Who would do such a thing?"

Ginny paused for a very long moment, her hands slightly trembling around the porcelain cup and sloshing a dribble of tea over the side and down her fingers. Molly offered her a bit of long dishtowel she had tied to her apron; she had long made this practice a habit in the chaotic Burrow.

"The last time I had met with him, Draco was worried because Bellatrix had shown up at the Death Eater camp and she had been watching him closely. Mrs. Malfoy blames her. But, how can we know for certain?"

"That woman is capably of anything."

Ginny nodded. Truer words were never spoken. "The wounds are mending now at least –" she swallowed back a sob, Draco's torn and mangled chest behind her lids. "We have to keep his chest wrapped, so that the wounds won't split open again."

"Yet, he is improving, Ginny. Concentrate on that."

"He is – he is – I _know_ that. But his organs were so damaged by the Crucios and it's too dangerous to take him to St. Mungos, and he almost died. I can't bear it."

"You will though." Molly watched her sympathetically. "He's been so strong for you, Ginny, and he is here now – _away _from the Death Eaters. And he never has to go back again."

"I _know_ that, I just –" How could she tell her mother how she had thought of Frank and Alice Longbottom and how they were never right again? How she had wondered who he would be when he woke, and would he know anyone or even his own name? How he had been so certain of her when they found him and how his strength and faith in her scared her too? She paused and looked down at her feet, noting a small black ant attempting to carry a bread crumb over the cobble stones, and took a deep breath. "If the merest dream of love were true / Then, sweet, we should be in heaven."

"What?" Molly asked, puzzled.

"It's from a poem that Grandma Weasley loved. Do you remember? Remember when she'd take me into her garden very much like this one? She'd recite poetry like they were songs as we walked."

"Yes, I remember how she loved songs."

"But sad – she loved sad poetry, said it made her feel stronger." Ginny paused. "I watched Draco sleep for most of the night with those lines running through my head." She continued, "Do you believe it's true, Mum? That true love is only given in heaven?" She looked up at her mother again, as though willing her optimism.

"No, I don't," she answered firmly, "for what else would we fight?"

After a moment's silence, Molly said, "You were certainly her favourite grandchild – she loved a girl to spoil. First Weasley girl in generations. You were special to her."

"She was special to me." Ginny paused, "Mum, do you think Nan would have liked Draco?"

"I think," Molly considered her reply, "that if you loved him and he treated you well, then yes, your grandmother would have liked him. She was very like her son in that respect." She gave Ginny a pointed look, but it was not her father's reaction that worried her so much. Arthur had a huge heart and he always had a soft spot for those close to his children. He'd practically adopted Harry and Hermione, after all.

Ginny had grown silent again, her brow crinkled in worry. She looked too old for eighteen that morning and it broke Molly's heart. "You love the Malfoy boy, right? Then, he will be fine." She frowned at the fly landing in her tea and tossed the rest to the side. "Just remember: three days he survived the Forbidden Forrest – for you and for his Mum. If that is not true love, then I am Bathilda Bagshot."

Ginny nodded. "Thanks Mum." Sometimes it was nice to give into her mother's faith. If only for a little while. "Your blessing then?"

Molly padded her daughter's shoulder, smiling at the small tone creeping into Ginny's voice – still a child in some ways. "I don't know him very well, which is something I mean to rectify, even enduring Narcissa Malfoy's company. But, I can see that he means something very different to you."

Ginny sighed. "With Draco it _is_ different, Mum – more different than I can even describe. And I hate being saccharine. But I can _feel_ it in my soul."

"Oh dear, that is saccharine," she teased, but evidently pleased that her daughter confided in her. "And does he feel the same?" she prodded, even though she felt that Ginny would not like the push.

She did not, but her mother's easy acceptance allowed her to be more open than she might otherwise have been. She pinked, remembered his breathless 'I love you,' several days prior and their kiss the night before, and this morning, his weirdly strong faith in her. "I believe he does."

Molly smiled wistfully, her own thoughts turning to the earnest young man Arthur had been so long ago (and still was), and how he had turned her world upside down, but she had picked him even though her father had railed against Weasley poverty. It had been different than anything before, like she could almost feel her soul beating where her heart had been. "Well, my dear, a Weasley and a Malfoy? A little stranger than a Weasley and a Prewett, but not so much."

Ginny knew, then, on some level they must have her mother's blessing. Even though she thought that such talk may be a bit precipitous, she could not _feel_ it so.

After a moment, Molly said, "Ron will be here tomorrow. Harry has filled him in and he has promised not to tease you now."

"Tease? That is a mild word."

"Your brother can be very supportive when he puts his mind to it," she asserted.

"Ever the eternal optimist, Mum," Ginny laughed. "At least Draco's voice hasn't yet returned. There will be less provoking."

Molly agreed, laughing. She tugged at the wild stem of lavender poking into her sweater. "I was surprised by you and the Malfoy boy. You'd never mentioned a word."

"I didn't know how," Ginny admitted.

"I suppose that makes sense. But, you can tell me _things_, and I won't judge."

Ginny looked at her.

"Well, I'll try not to judge – which is almost the same."

"You could call him Draco, you know," she suggested.

"Duly noted. I know that I'm not Luna or Hermione, but I'll try."

Ginny laughed. "One Luna or Hermione each is more than enough, thank you."

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3: One Morning**_

_Author's note: I do not own Draco Malfoy or Ginny Weasley, sadly. A warning for the extreme fluff following._

_Set about a week after Draco's rescue._

* * *

_Morning, his place  
Burnt toast, Sunday  
You keep his shirt  
He keeps his word  
And for once you let go  
Of your fears and your ghosts  
One step, not much, but it said enough  
You kissed on sidewalks  
You fight and you talk  
One night he wakes, strange look on his face  
Pauses, then says, you're my best friend  
And you knew what it was, he is in love  
~ "You're In Love," Taylor Swift_

* * *

A few days later, Draco's voice began to return. Raspy and a little broken. The Mediwitch told them that his voice may never fully recover, that his vocal chords had been severely damaged by the curse aimed at his throat. He still had that upper-crust lilt, which, it seemed, could not even be eradicated by Bellatrix Lestrange. The combination was the sexiest thing Ginny had ever heard and she shivered with his throaty "Ginevra."

Draco had not failed to note the effect of his rasp, as easily and as quickly as he noted other changes in her appearance or demeanour ever since that day he had been surprised to find her his contact in the Order. At first, it was for the suspicion that naturally arose in him towards Gryffindors or Order members in general, and then, as the weeks and months passed by, for the unlikely fascination that had taken hold in him. Long before he had been able to name the pull towards her as anything other than suspicion or the mere physical presence of a pretty girl in the midst of war, he had watched and noted everything about her.

And now it was the shiver, especially when he murmured her full name. Not Ginny. Ginevra. He had taken to calling her name unnecessarily and sometimes in the company of others to see her flush. And the look of her eyes, wide with arousal. Like she could devour him. He could not resist. The outcome of which had often been drugging kisses and gropings until his chest ached in all the wrong ways. It was a little masochistic on his part as he had not been cleared for any strenuous activity, but Merlin above, it was worth it.

Except Ginny never let him push it too far and she was too much wracked with guilt. He was not going to break, despite what she seemed to think. Or his appearance seemed to suggest.

At the present moment, he stood in front of the small Muggle mirror, which hung over the dresser in his room at Grimmauld. He had been disconcerted by its silence and even now felt disturbed when it did not shimmer and reply. He prodded the forming scar over his right eyebrow; it was still pinkish and would soon fade to a white that he hoped his pale complexion would somewhat disguise. The other small, spidery scars would fade to nothingness soon enough. Those slashing across his chest would never – though they were only barely closed now and held together by sutures and bandages wrapped around his torso. He wondered again what kind of modified Sectumsempra his aunt had invented.

But, it was easier to focus on his physical appearance. He did not want to think about the recurring nightmares of hexes and curses and his aunt's maniacal laughter. Neither could he dwell for very long on his father and Snape who were still missing. His own defection must now be common knowledge and hence especially dangerous to them. If they were even still living, Draco was certain that they suffered worse torture than he had endured. Bella, no doubt, took especial glee in telling them of her confrontation with Draco, that she had Crucio'd him to the brink of insanity, and sliced him to near death, and left him to die by blood loss, exposure, or to be prey for the creatures living in the forest.

He could _not _think about this right now, when he was fucking helpless at Grimmauld.

Ginny stirred behind him on the bed, brushing the hair from her eyes, and frowning when her hand met his empty space. Mrs. Weasley had frowned and sent stern, reproving looks their way when she had discovered Ginny sleeping in his bed, but she'd said not a word. At least to him. Not that any scolding would do any good for either him or Ginny. Draco would do as he pleased, as he always had – at least before the war. Ginny – she was the most stubborn witch he had ever known. Wild horses could not drag her from him now. She told him plainly.

Anyway, _if_ she had been forced back into her own bed, he'd just follow.

"Morning," he rasped. He found that even though they had spent the majority of the last several days together, she liked to be reminded that he was still here. She especially liked to hear his voice now. She always smiled a little sweetly. Even in others' company, some movement or tone of his voice would draw her attention intensely, as though she could not quite believe in his presence. It startled her.

"What time is it?" She padded over to him, wearing an old orange Chuddley Cannons t-shirt that clashed horribly with her hair. Suddenly and with the clarity of true foresight, Draco knew that he was going to marry this girl one day. So, he turned around and kissed her. Deeply and rather longer than he intended, disregarding her morning breath and the dull ache in his chest which flared at any excitement.

"What," she gasped, "was that for?"

He chose to answer her first question, because he did not know how to answer the second. "Seven."

"What?" Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"It's seven o'clock."

He was staring at her intently again, as he had done every day since his rescue, like she was his own personal mystery, though his expression this morning was lighter and different. He made her want to curl herself around him, to place her face against his chest to hear his heart beat. She draped her arms lightly around his waist and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. All bruised and bandaged – his skin would never be flawless again, nor his voice quite so silky, but he was still achingly beautiful all the same. And he was hers.

Ginny was still amazed that she could touch him, that she was allowed to brush her fingers across his cheek, and kiss his shoulder and lips – whenever she wanted. She murmured thus as she grazed her lips across his neck. She could make him shiver too.

He'd gone back to examining the long mark slashing across his brow, frowning again. She could not help the laugh that escaped as she hid her face in his back.

"Ginny," he whinged. She'd been teasing him for his vanity for the past several days.

"I'm sorry," though she sounded _not _sorry at all. "I just keep thinking that you'll never be able to call Harry Scarhead again." She laughed again, louder at the stunned expression on his face. He allowed her to laugh at him for the moment – she was the _only_ person allowed to laugh at him – before he spun her around and tackled her to the bed, reveling in her shrieks and ignoring the residual stings in his chest.

Some things were worth the pain, he thought, smiling down at her. He might pay for it later, when his aches and her over-protectiveness overcame them both, but, for now, she was in his arms and willing. She pulled him down, the better to kiss him, requesting against his lips, "Say my name again."

Draco laughed. "Ginny," he said and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

"You missed," she said with mocking pout. "Try again."

"Gin," he kissed her forehead.

"Again."

He kissed her other cheek, murmuring "Ginny," again, before he caught her lips, kissing her long and deeply until they had to break for breath. Her eyes were hooded, like she had been drugged, her features all flushed.

"Again," she rasped and he understood why his voice affected her so. He loved the rough tone caused by his caresses.

"Ginevra," he replied and watched her eyes gleam.

Yes, he was definitely going to have to marry this witch one day.

* * *

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